Super Strange Stories Presents: The Sands of Jupiter!
by MizJoely
Summary: Sherlock Holmes, intergalactic pirate, and Molly Hooper, submarine commander, find themselves stranded together...but where? And why? And most importantly, how long before they have sex?
1. On the Beach

_Holnnes on tumblr made this post: __I feel like the people going "HAAAAH SHERLOLLY ISN'T GOING TO BE CANON MOFFAT SAID SO" don't really have much experience with Sherlolly shippers. Even before we got a kiss and a crime solving 'date', we were fully prepared to keep shipping no matter what happened. I'm pretty sure Sherlock could be sent to Jupiter on a case and Molly could lead a fleet of submarines on the search for Atlantis and at least one of us would find a way to reunite them just as an excuse to write some smut._

_Courtesy of that wonderful post and Benedicted-Cumberbatched's encouragement, I present a cracky tail (yes I said t-a-i-l not t-a-l-e) of intergalactic romance!_

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><p>Commander Molly Hooper of the British Navy stared around in wonder at the sight that met her eyes. The sky was filled with planets - no, moons; she recognized Ganymede and Europa, Io and Callisto as they ghosted through the dark sky. One minute she'd been in her submarine, the HMS <em>Baker Street<em>, and then the whirlpool had taken them down, down, to death, she thought...was this, then, the afterlife? Heaven or Hell, Purgatory or some other state of being? Or was she simply dying, delusional?

She pinched herself, wincing at the pain. No, not dead, unless being dead meant you felt exactly the same as you did when you were alive. She was still breathing, could feel her heart beating rapidly in her chest, the warmth of the sand beneath her feet and the coolness of the night breeze on her face.

So where, then, was she? The evidence in the sky proclaimed Jupiter, but the sand beneath her bare feet – where had her boots and uniform gone, why was she wearing only a sheer wisp of fabric round her hips? –and tranquil turquoise ocean proclaimed somewhere less otherworldly. Tahiti, perhaps, or Hawaii.

No matter which option she chose, both were equally impossible. She'd been sailing the north Atlantic, not the Pacific, and the last thing she remembered before waking up here was the sound of the navigator, Anderson, calling out a desperate SOS while the alarm claxon sounded and the instrumentation on the _Baker Street_ suddenly went berserk.

"Lovely, isn't it."

Molly gasped and turned, hand automatically groping for a sidearm that wasn't there. The man standing before her was a stranger, not one of her crew, but someone she recognized nonetheless. "Sherlock Holmes?" she said, staring in disbelief.

He gave a slight, mocking bow. "Very impressive, Commander Hooper, got it in one."

Ignoring the fact that he knew her name in spite of them never having actually met before – and her not wearing a uniform to give her rank away – she plowed on. "How can you be here? The _Hudson_ and its crew vanished into space two years ago!"

She noted the sudden expression of consternation on his face, swiftly hidden behind a mask of assumed boredom. "Two years? Huh. It literally feels like no time at all has passed since the _Hudson_ crashed into a special anomaly and I woke up here, dressed as you currently see me." He waved his hands down the length of his torso and the tops of his legs in dramatic 'look at me' fashion.

It was an odd coincidence, that they'd been literally across the solar system from one another and yet still found themselves apparently stranded on Jupiter after unexplained phenomena took out their vessels. She said as much, although she stubbornly refused to ask how he'd known her name and rank. "Captain Holmes," she began, only to be interrupted by the infuriating man.

"Oh, do call me Sherlock, Molly," he said with a sniff. "No need to stand on formality. Although it's heartening to know that my legend lives on after my supposed demise in the darkness of space."

"'Legend?' Hardly," Molly scoffed. "Infamy, more like!"

"Infamy," he repeated with a raised eyebrow. Molly noted the way those lovely blue-green orbs – so similar in hue to the gentle waves rolling onto shore behind them both – narrowed as he raked his gaze over her. "I hardly think I deserve so harsh a reckoning in history's books as that!"

"You stole a spaceship, hijacked the crew, and set off to wreak havoc among the stars," she pointed out tartly, wishing her face didn't feel quite so hot – or that her heart would slow its gallop to a more sedate pace.

Captain Holmes peered over at her with a frown. "I liberated the vessel from a tyrannical ogre of a commanding officer, stranded him and anyone who wished to leave the ship at a mining colony on Mars, and gave the rest of the crew the option of joining me or joining them. Most of whom, sensibly enough, picked me and a life of adventure."

"Adventure, he says," Molly scoffed. "Hah! Thievery and banditry and who knows what else – and for what? You'd all have ended up hanged eventually!"

He sneered at her. "Oh? And searching for the lost continent of Atlantis – how is that so different than what I had in mind, hmm?"

"How did you know my mission?" she demanded, outraged, unaware of how close they'd come to one another until she found herself looking up – and up – at him from only a few feet away.

"I know everything about you, Molly Hooper," he replied in a seductive murmur, his expression turning from contempt to contemplative – as in, he looked now as if he were contemplating some very, very naughty ideas.

That flash of hunger in his eyes, surely she was imagining it? What she would give to be wearing her uniform right now! It was unfair that the man standing before her not only had a height advantage – six feet and a bit to her five feet three inches – but also that he was gorgeous, charismatic, and fully clothed as well. In, she noted, what looked like period-perfect 17th century pirate garb, right down to a cutlass and pistol thrust through the sash at his narrow waist. How appropriate.

_How delicious,_ some wicked part of her mind noted with a purr of approval. Molly ignored it; she was a naval officer, dammit, not the heroine of some cheesy paperback romance!

While she was busy berating herself, Sherlock had moved even closer, one hand reaching out to touch her hair. "You really are quite lovely, you know," he said, his voice deep and rich as a Lindt 90% cocoa Excellence bar. "If I had to be stranded alone on Jupiter with anyone…"

Molly, who had been swaying forward and tilting her head back, lips parted, stiffened and pulled away from him. "What d'you mean, alone? Where's your crew?"

He shrugged. "Dunno. Where's yours?" He looked around exaggeratedly, one hand over his brow as he peered this way and that. "I suppose they're either cavorting together on some other tropical paradise of an island, or else…" His voice trailed off and Molly swallowed. Hard. Or else they were dead, he was saying-without-saying.

"Or else they're perfectly safe back on our respective vessels wondering what the hell happened to us. Or else this is a shared delusion. Or else…well, I could go on speculating, but doing so with no facts is tantamount to spinning my mental wheels, as it were." There it was, that glint of heat flashing in his eyes as he looked at her. "Why should we waste our time, when there are far more productive things we could be doing?"

"Like figuring out a way off this island – planet – whatever – and back to Earth?" Molly asked warily, knowing what response she'd get. The same kind of response she was hoping for, actually, given her instant attraction to the dangerous man in front of her. Instant, and highly inappropriate. If she could do to him what her libido was whispering – shouting, screaming – at her to do…well, it would be conduct unbecoming an officer, and then some!

"Is that a proper ocean?" she asked once she was able get control of herself. If her first officer, Sally Donovan, could see her now! The thought of her good friend reminded her that she still had no idea as to the other woman's fate, or that of the rest of the crew, and sudden tears threatened. It was as if all her emotions were far closer to the surface than usual!

Sherlock shrugged and peered over at the waves disinterestedly and seeming unaware of her sudden emotional distress. "It looks proper enough; there's certainly a salt tang in the air, and the spray hasn't harmed me any, although I haven't gone deeper than the toes of my boots so far."

"Right. Ta." Molly grimly choked back the threatening tears. If she was going to cry over the possible deaths of the men and women with whom she'd so proudly served for the past four years, she was damn well going to do it with the ocean spray masking her tears, and not in front of this arrogant criminal. A handsome, rather delicious looking criminal, but still a criminal.

Without waiting for an answer, she dashed over to the waves and splashed into the water. It felt like heaven, warm and inviting, and she quickly dove in.

When she emerged a minute later, with Sherlock shouting anxiously at her from shore, two things had occurred to her: one, it had been a really stupid idea to jump into the water without finding out if it was safe, and two, she was now a mermaid.


	2. Alien Waters

_A/N: Ahoy, mateys, ahead be smut! One more chapter after this, and this little crackfic will be complete! Thanks to everyone for following and reviewing, you guys rock!_

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><p>"Get out of the water right now!" Sherlock bellowed.<p>

"I can't!" Molly yelled back.

"Why not?"

"Because I've been turned into a bloody mermaid!"

He looked rather taken aback at her words, mouth gaping open but no further words coming out. Good, she needed him to just shut up for a minute and let her try to figure things out.

Luckily her body seemed to know what to do with itself; her tail was moving lazily back and forth, helping her keep her equilibrium as her head and shoulders rose above the waves. Her hair, instead of being thick and wet and in her face the way it usually did if she swam without having it ruthlessly tied back, instead seemed fuller and thicker than normal – not quite fully dry, but certainly not dripping in her eyes. Which widened rather comically when she took in the fact that her hair was slowly but surely changing color, from chestnut brown to a very familiar shade of blue-green.

"Let the waves carry you back to shore," Sherlock shouted, looking far more distressed than she was actually feeling. "You'll turn human again once you're out of the water!"

Wait, what? "How do you know?" she called back to him, not budging from her spot. Well, not deliberately budging, since the water was moving her back and forth a bit. But she wasn't heading in to shore until he answered her question. "I thought you said you hadn't gone into the water!"

It was hard to tell with the distance between them and the semi-darkness, but she thought he looked a bit…embarrassed? Why? Oh, no, surely he hadn't – ! "Sherlock Holmes, did you turn into a mer, uh, man?" she demanded, needing to have her suspicions verified. The thought of him with hair matching his eyes and a silver-scaled tail was absolutely mouthwatering, especially in her current form!

"No!" he shouted back, but his cheeks were definitely flushing red.

Hmmm. Molly drifted a little closer to shore, close enough to see how agitated the space pirate appeared. He was pacing back and forth, one hand on the handle of his cutlass, as if he was trying to decide if he should be brandishing it or not. "Then what?" she called out.

He stopped his pacing and turned to face her, brow furrowed in confusion. "What, what?" he demanded.

"What did you turn into, then?" Molly called back, not bothering to hide her amusement. She really ought to be more alarmed than she actually was, and it would probably be a good idea if she went back to shore and checked to see if Sherlock's assertion was correct; she actually didn't want to stay a mermaid for the duration of her stay on Jupiter, or wherever they actually were. But at the same time, it was rather…fun…to be teasing him like this. And it had been a very, very long time since Molly Hooper had enjoyed herself this much.

Sherlock continued to stare at her as her tail lazily moved beneath the waves, keeping her floating in place. Just when she decided he wasn't ever going to answer her question, he ducked his head and mumbled something. "What?" she asked, not sure she'd heard him correctly.

"I said, I turned into a DRAGON!" he bellowed, face bright red, down to the tips of his ears and eyes darting anywhere except to meet her own. "Now will you PLEASE get out of the water? Who knows if the effects might become permanent? You've already been in there twice as long as I was!"

Molly's eyes widened, and a million questions flooded her mind. However, the sound of real fear in Sherlock's voice made her hold back; instead, she ducked under the waves and used her new (temporary, please let it be temporary no matter how much she liked it) tail to propel her rapidly down and then back up again. She breached the waves like a porpoise, reveling in the sensation of freedom as she launched herself directly at Sherlock. "Catch me!" she called out, but the clever man had already braced himself and held his arms ready to do just that.

She didn't know why she was suddenly being so reckless, but the mysterious circumstances of their mutual arrivals at so unlikely a place probably had something to do with it. After all, if one has been turned into either a dragon (a dragon!) or a mermaid, then one either collapses into mental distress, or one rolls with it. And Molly had definitely decided to roll with it. It was exhilarating, launching herself at Sherlock, trusting him to catch her – which he did, deftly and fairly easily in spite of the grunt that escaped his lips as she landed in his arms.

They stared at each other, Molly breathless with laughter, Sherlock glowering a bit until suddenly he, too was laughing, holding her lightly in his arms. She twined her arms round his neck and rested her head on his shoulder, her tail gently swaying back and forth. When she looked up at Sherlock again, however, the laughter died, both falling into a very fraught silence. Molly barely noticed when her tail became two legs and her hair returned to its less-exotic coloring, but she certainly noticed the way Sherlock was practically devouring her with his eyes – and there was no missing his intent as he lowered his head to hers until their lips were only a breath apart.

"I'm going to kiss you, Commander Hooper," he said huskily, his hands shifting her until she was fully pressed against his firm chest.

"O-okay," she squeaked, as if she were a shy teenager again. Then his lips were on hers, warm and soft and oh so lovely, and she was quite eagerly returning his kiss. Her mouth opened as he swiped his tongue across her lips, her own tongue darting out to meet his, her fingers tightening on his dark curls…when had she grabbed them, did it even matter? No, not in the least, she decided as she shut her eyes and simply enjoyed the moment.

She didn't notice that he'd lowered them both to the sands of the alien beach until suddenly she was lying beneath his lean form, feeling the evidence of his desire for her hot and thick and lovely against her hip. He knelt up as she opened her eyes, and she watched hungrily as he hurriedly tore his clothing from his body, letting it drop to the sand willy-nilly. He had some small troubles unbuckling his scabbard, but Molly took pity on him and finished the job as he wrestled himself out of his jacket, waistcoat and creamy white shirt. The boots gave him a bit of trouble as well, but that might have been her fault, since she'd started sucking his cock as soon as his trousers were down past his hips.

He fell back on the sand with a groan, Molly being sure not to remove her mouth as she moved with him. She heard the soft thud of his boots finally working free of his legs and landing in the sand, and smiled against his skin as he wiggled his way out of his trousers. She popped her mouth off just long enough to grin at him and say, "Next time don't wear such tight clothes, Captain Holmes!"

To which he replied, "They weren't my original clothing any more than that wisp of cloth you had round your hips was what you were – urk!" The "urk" was because Molly chose that moment to suck him deep into her mouth again; she watched complacently as his eyes rolled back and his head flopped onto the sand while his fingers gripped handfuls of the golden grains and a series of appreciative grunts escaped those perfect, cupid's bow lips.

When she felt she'd done enough justice to that lovely cock of his, she popped her lips away and settled herself on top of his body. This whole extraordinary event – finding herself on an alien world, not knowing the fate of her submarine or crew, meeting up with a notorious hijacker – had caused her libido to explode as it never had before; she doubted she'd need any sort of manual stimulation to get her slick enough to ride him. But as she started to ease her way onto him, Sherlock reached up and grasped her by the hips, gently tugging her up his body until her sex was just above his face.

"Been dying to taste you since I first laid eyes on you," he said, his voice husky and eyes dark with desire as she settled her knees on either side of his head. Then those long fingers were tugging her lower and his mouth was open as his tongue darted up to lap eagerly at her wet folds.

Within minutes Molly was moaning his name, gasping at the feel of his mouth and eventually his fingers as he brought her closer and closer to the brink of ecstasy. Although part of her was screaming about how wrong this was, the rest of her was more than happy to stick its figurative fingers in its figurative ears and chant 'la la la can't hear you'.

Both sides were mercifully overcome by the blissful feel of Sherlock's tongue lapping eagerly at her clit; lucky, lucky Molly had finally found a man who understood the basic mechanics of the female anatomy, and was happy to demonstrate his knowledge. Happy, and quite, quite eager, judging by the noises coming from his mouth as he slid two fingers into her cunt and hummed.

That did it. With a loud cry, Molly came, her orgasm crashing over her like a tidal wave, dragging her under until her knees could no longer support her. She retained enough presence of mind to fall onto her side next to Sherlock, rather than simply collapsing on top of him, and vaguely noted when he took her into his arms, raining kisses on her cheeks, the tip of her nose, her forehead, and eventually her lips.

She'd never been fond of the taste of herself on someone else's mouth, but this time it didn't bother her. She returned Sherlock's kisses eagerly as her racing heart slowed back to normal, and the aftershocks of her orgasm finally stopped pulsing through her cunt. When she finally felt fully in control of herself, she pulled herself from his arms, positioned herself over his still-hard cock, and eased her way down until he filled her completely. He steadied her with his hands on her hips, a sheen of sweat coating his body – and her own, she noted absently as she began to move, seeking a rhythm they could both enjoy.

And brother, did they both enjoy it. Sherlock was cursing and calling her name, his hands on her hips, his body bucking beneath hers. She was gasping and panting, finally leaning forward to plant a sloppy kiss on his lips as he released her hips and palmed her breasts. His hands were so bloody large they easily covered her meager assets – although, judging by the glazed expression in his eyes, he had no complaints as to the size of her tits. Of course, it could be the way she was so expertly riding him, if she did say so herself, but she was in no mood to quiz him on what part of her liked best. Not when she could feel another orgasm rising; leaning back abruptly, she fingered her clit, resting her other hand on his thigh, and heard him give a strangled moan as she brought herself to completion. The hot pulse of his cock deep inside her heralded his own orgasm, until the two of them collapsed together on the sandy beach, falling swiftly into slumber.


	3. Home Again

_A/N: And so we reach the end of this silly little crackfic. Thanks for following and favoriting and of course reviewing, as always! I hope you enjoyed the ride!_

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><p>When Molly awoke, a bit disoriented, she found herself, not lying on the sands of an alien shore, wrapped in the arms of her piratical lover, but safely back in her own bunk on the <em>HMS Baker Street.<em> "What the actual fuck?!" she exclaimed before she could stop herself, making to rise.

She was stopped by a firm hand on her shoulder; the ship's doctor, Sarah Sutton, pressed her back down. "Sorry, Commander, but I don't advise you getting out of bed for a while. That was quite a bump you took to the head."

Molly blinked, mind working rapidly to try and unravel what had just happened. Had it all been some sort of intensely realistic – ish – dream? Had she hallucinated it all after receiving a concussion?

No. "We were worried, after that vortex just opened up underneath us and you vanished," Sarah was saying as she settled into the chair she'd pulled up, while Molly obediently remained supine. "We thought for sure we were all dead, but when things settled down, the only casualty seemed to be you. And then, just as suddenly as you'd vanished, there you were again, falling from the bloody ceiling as if you'd just manifested there, already unconscious and then of course you landed head-first on the metal deck." She shook her head. "Damndest thing I've ever seen. I can't wait for your report, sir!"

"You and me both," Molly muttered under her breath as the doctor flashed a light in her eyes and made her do various uncomfortable – but presumably medically necessary – things to prove her good health. "So, um, how long was I gone, exactly?"

"About an hour," was Sarah's absentminded reply as she continued the examination. After a moment, she "hmmed" in an interested voice before settling back on her chair and giving her commanding officer a peculiar look.

"Good 'hmm' or bad 'hmm'?" Molly asked, dreading to hear what had caught her CMO's interest.

"Just 'hmm' in general," Sarah replied with a very interested gleam in her eyes. She leaned forward and reached behind Molly's ear again, pulling her hand back with two fingers pinched together "Care to explain how you ended up with sand in your hair?"

Molly shut her eyes briefly; so much for it all having been some kind of incredibly detailed dream. "Uhh…it's all kind of a blur?" she said hopefully as she opened her eyes and gave Sarah her most innocent look. "Because of, um, the concussion and all?"

"Fine," Sarah huffed, dropping the grains of sand to the floor as if they had no importance whatsoever. "If you don't want to tell me, then don't tell me. But you'll have to put something in a report!"

Molly nodded meekly. She would, indeed, have to put something in a report…but it would be something she'd made up, she'd already determined that much. At least she had on her side that she'd actually physically vanished from the sub – and only for an hour rather than the much longer period of time it had seemed to her. She would put together some specious report about a hazy nothingness, neither she nor Sarah would ever mention the sand again – she knew her friend well enough to understand that was why the other woman had been so deliberately casual with the 'evidence' – and life would go on as it always had, this incident nothing more than an intriguing blip on the radar. A mystery, she suspected, never to be unraveled.

"Well, I've done all I can for you for now," Sarah said, rising to her feet with an exaggerated stretch and yawn. "Watching you sleep has certainly made me sleepy. I'll let Lt. Donovan know you're fit to return to duty tomorrow – and no," she added warningly as she correctly interpreted Molly's imminent protest, "not before then. 0800 tomorrow and no earlier, got it?"

Molly pouted, but subsided with a small nod of the head. "Drink lots of fluids, get some more rest, and maybe work out what your report will read," Sarah advised as she headed out the door, stepping over the raised jamb and giving Molly one last admonishing look before pulling the metal door shut behind her.

As soon as she was alone, Molly sat up and threw the covers off her legs. She was wearing her own clothing – loose-fitting pyjama trousers and button-up top, and a pair of her heavy, homely knit socks, the ones her mother had made for her, on her feet. She was absurdly comforted by the sight of those bulky, brightly colored pieces of clothing, just as comforted as she was by the myriad of cheerful kittens decorating her pyjamas. She'd neglected to ask what she'd been wearing upon her return, but judging by the sketchy report Sarah had given, she suspected she'd been once again clad in her own uniform. Her sidearm was neatly holstered and lying on her desk, and since she'd been wearing it when she left, she felt her suspicions to be justified and decided not to risk confirming them.

A small ping from her private communications console alerted her to an outside communication; curious, she stepped over to her small desk and sat down in front of it. If she was supposed to be off-duty, then all communications to her should have been set for intercept and hold on Sarah's orders. So who could it possibly…

The breath left her as a very familiar face appeared on her screen. "Ah, Molly. You're looking well."

"So are you, Sherlock," she replied, ridiculously pleased with herself for keeping her voice steady. "Back on your stolen spaceship, I take it?"

He nodded and grinned. He was no longer wearing his piratical garb, but was instead clad in a tight aubergine button-up, with the top three buttons undone. The only sign he wasn't reclining in a chair somewhere back on Earth was the background; a plain, grey riveted bulkhead not unlike the ones surrounding her, and an obvious interstellar captain's chair were all she could see besides his upper torso and (gorgeous) face.

The memory of sitting on that face brought a blush to her own, and she hurriedly said the first thing she could think of to try and ameliorate her physiological reaction. "I wonder why we were brought there, do you? Wonder that, I mean? If we were just going to end up back where we started?"

He grinned, and she knew with a deepening flush of red that he understood exactly why she was flushing. "What's your theory, Commander Hooper?" he said, his voice a low, husky caress against her ears.

She shrugged. "I dunno. I guess…it's almost as if the Universe itself wanted us to be together," she mused, realizing how melodramatic the words sounded even as she spoke them.

"Some greater force certainly did," Sherlock agreed. "Even if only for a few short hours. But now…" He shrugged. "We're back in our own corners of the galaxy, you on Earth me…well. Wherever I am, which I shan't divulge at the moment. I'm a wanted man, after all."

She raised an eyebrow. "Oh, aren't we full of ourselves?" she said, then felt her cheeks heating even further as he smirked – and she realized his words hadn't been meant as the double entendre she'd taken them for. Or had they? She was irritated enough with both him and herself to snap out, "Don't be coy, you enjoyed that little encounter just as much as I did!"

"Oh, no denials on my part," he replied, airily waving his hand, his smirk deepening. "But I'd best cut off communications, just wanted to reassure myself that you'd made it back to your own ship safe and sound." He leaned forward, reaching out with one hand as if to do just as he'd said, then paused. ""Oh, and, Commander Hooper?"

"What?" she snapped, still a bit out of sorts. Although it was nice to think that he'd actually called to check in on her, it was more likely that he'd just wanted to taunt her.

"Don't think I've forgotten that you said 'next time'," he told with a cheeky wink. Before she could come up with an appropriately cutting response, the transmission ended, and she was left staring at a blank screen.

However, she couldn't stop the grin from spreading across her lips. "Next time, indeed," she murmured as she shut down the console.

She couldn't wait.


End file.
